Sunday Snog – Wimbledon Special!
Welcome to Sunday Song – here’s a smoochy moment from Grand Slam to get you in the mood for those hot, hot tennis players who are showing off their talents on the court at Wimbledon! Oh, yum!
I swallowed. Shit, how the hell was I supposed to argue with him when he was naked and dripping and looking deliciously dirty despite the clean, woodsy scent of his shower gel?
“All that.” I flicked my hand, using my anger to help me ignore the fact he’d just been stroking his cock and saying my name. “Out there. With Peter.”
He gripped his dick again, tugged it. A sly grin spread on his face. “He needs to know where he stands. It’s only fair.”
“That’s for me to do, in my own time, thank you very much.”
He ran his grip up his shaft, smoothed his thumb through his deep slit. I found it impossible not to watch. “Come here,” he said quietly.
He stared at me, the shower beating on his shoulders bounced off him in a hard spray, creating a mist, halo-like around his head. I almost laughed. Travis Connolly was no angel, not by a long stretch of the imagination.
“Marie, come here.” His tone was firmer this time.
“I need you to say you won’t interfere again.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“You’ll have to.”
He smiled but his lips flattened almost immediately as he set up a slow push-pull movement on his dick. He tipped his head up to the water and groaned.
“Jesus,” I said, taking a step toward him. I licked my lips, felt my heart rate skitter. His abdominal muscles were like a row of bricks, deeply defined and golden. That tempting dark trail of hair was flat and wet against his skin. How I would love to run my fingers through it, lick, nibble and suck, head lower… “Are you really going to stand there and have a wank instead of discussing this with me?”
“I can wank and have a conversation. I’m good at multitasking.” He set his gaze on me once more. “But feel free to help me out here. If you want to that is.”
“No.” I folded my arms.
“Perhaps I’ll order you to.”
“What, like you ordered me not to go out with Peter?”
“I don’t recall it happening that way at all. You offered not to see him again.”
“Yes, well, maybe I did, but I also remember you saying you had no hold on me, no claim.”
“Mmm, did I?” He was masturbating a bit faster now, a small shudder rippled through him. “Well that was before I spanked your pretty arse and then fucked you. Maybe now I’m feeling that gives me some kind of rights. Certainly more rights than Peter has.”
“You said we were just exploring, playing, that was the deal.”
“It still is the deal. But forget Peter, he’s not here, it’s just us. And this place is empty, empty and quiet, warm and wet and seeing you standing there… Fucking hell, Marie, have you any idea what you do to me? How hard you make me?”
“I do?” I had a fair idea.
“Yes, like granite, concrete. I swear half the blood in my body goes to my cock when I think of you over my knee or remember myself buried deep inside you or…” He moaned, jerking his hips into his own fist.
“Or thinking of you touching me in the shower. Right from that first time I saw you, I’ve fantasized about it… Fucking hell, come here. Now.” He grimaced. “And if I have to tell you again you’ll find yourself becoming acquainted with some clamps I have whether you want to or not.”
My breaths were rapid. His words tumbled through my mind. Shower—he fantasized about me touching him in the shower? That was what got the world’s number one off when he was alone—me jacking his cock in the water? And clamps? I could have a good guess at what he meant, I wasn’t stupid. But really? He thought that was a threat? It sounded like a big pile of fun to me.
I stepped out of my sandals, went so close the steamy spray of the water dampened my arms and settled on my cheeks.
“Touch me,” he said. His tone carried a definite order but there was also a certain note of desperation in it. “I need you to touch me, you, just you, Marie.”
I needed to touch him too. And I could forget about Peter. That was possible. In fact that was easy. Touching the man standing in front of me—horny, turned-on, gorgeous—was all I wanted to do. Everything else paled into insignificance.
He stepped out from under the water just a little and turned, palms on the wall again, the way he’d been when I’d first walked into the room.
I moved in behind him, not caring when the thin cotton of my dress pressed against his back and buttocks and became instantly soaked. I squeezed closer still, my breasts squashing against his solid body, my mound pushing at the base of his buttocks. All I could think of was hearing that rumbling groan he made when he came, of feeling his cock pulse in my hand, of making him fall to his knees again when an intense orgasm ripped through his body.
Reaching ’round him, I curled my hand around his cock, absorbed the appreciative moan that erupted from his chest and started a slow pumping movement, up and down, slowly, so slowly.
He rocked his hips a little, canting them forward and backward. I took the hint, increased the speed, stretched with my other hand and cupped his balls, cool, wet sacs that were heavy in my palms.
“Use your nails,” he gasped, widening his stance. “On my balls. Please, scratch me.”
I did as he asked, pressing my cheek on his sopping shoulder blade as I drew little scrapes over his sac.
“Ah, yes, like that,” he said breathily.
His shaft was thick and hot, swollen and stiff. I wished I could see it from where I stood but I couldn’t, I was embracing him from behind.
“That looks so incredibly sexy,” he gasped. “To see your tiny hands on my dick like that.”
“You should come soon in case someone interrupts us.”
“No one will… But don’t worry… I’m not far,” he moaned. “Ah yeah, faster now, harder.”
His balls were packing in tight to his body, the pulse in his cock was throbbing against my palm and he was rocking into me and away, setting the pace.
“Ah, Marie, yeah…”
I stretched my index finger back as far as it would go behind his balls and stroked over his anus like I had before. Just applying a bit of pressure to the clenched pucker.
“Fucking hell, Marie…Marie… You…” His words turned into a long, low grunt and then he froze. He was coming hard. Waves of pleasure were shooting up his cock and throbbing against my hand. A rope of slippery cum caught over my palm then served as lube as I jacked him harder, firmer, my movements barely controlled, the heat and friction building.
“Crap, that’s too good,” he groaned, suddenly spinning, forcing me to release him. “You want me on my knees again?”
He kissed me, shoving his tongue into my mouth, sweeping around ’til he found mine.
I gave as good as I got, holding him to me tight, again not caring about water or cum stains on my dress.
Another shiver of pleasure attacked his body and I squeezed him to me tighter.
He slid his fingers into my hair, holding me firm as his kiss intensified. I hadn’t orgasmed but I was tingling all over, my knees weak, my breaths hard to catch.
Grand Slam is available from Ellora’s Cave and all good ebook retailers.